


Incomparable

by Raven_Blanchard



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Anthony Bridgerton is so done with Daphne's shenanigans, Caroline is confused by this creature, Charles Bingley is a fanboy too, Class Differences, Crossover, Daphne has seen this Jane Austen book before, Daphne is richer than Mr. Darcy, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Historical Figures, Isekai, Modern Girl in the Regency Era, Mr. Darcy is a fanboy, OC basically takes great works and writes them as her own, OC is a classy bitch, OC is a fujoshi, Plagiarism, Political machinations afoot, Rebirth, Regency Romance, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, She Has Good Intentions Though, for a fictional world, green tea protagonist, long circumlocutory speech, manners, or at least what counts for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Blanchard/pseuds/Raven_Blanchard
Summary: /ˌinˈkämp(ə)rəb(ə)l/adjectiveDefinition: without an equal in quality or extent; unable to be compared; totally different in nature.Daphne Bridgerton is perfect; she is beautiful, graceful, kind and talented in the arts that matter. She is also a woman of sharp wit and keen intellect, not that any of the peerage cares at all about women having more brains than that of a particularly accomplished broodmare. She misses 2021, truly, COVID and all.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35
Collections: Self Inserts/SI





	Incomparable

" _What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is what can you make people believe you have done.”_

 _―_ **_Viscount_ ** **_Anthony Bridgerton,_ ** **_A Study in Scarlet_ **

It was well received by the readers, that is apparent. _All_ of them, it seems, or enough of them that the difference hardly matters. The common rabble – or those of them studied enough to truly appreciate the finer arts and literatures, some of the mercantile classes, and certainly most of the landed gentry – seem to be aptly in awe; the epicenter of the tale’s plot and machinations being that of their approximate class, appeals very well to their sensibilities (such as they are). The peerage seems moderately intrigued, though the focus of their attentions seems to be in that it is a tale of a man who singularly manages to unravel various schemes and conspiracies. In a manner of speaking, it appeals to the consummate liars within those in the peerage.

The Prince Regent is another matter entire – a matter that disquiets Anthony Bridgerton to such a point that on one brisk autumn morning, he quite suddenly enters his sister's chambers in a most indecorous stumble.

“ _Daphne_!” comes his undignified shriek. Daphne Bridgerton very pointedly does not laugh, though it is a near thing. Her brother steps into her quarters quickly in a half-step, disheveled, and clad in his wrinkled night robes – certainly not in a manner appropriate enough for company, though it has been long since Daphne has done away with unneeded pleasantries with family, much to her mother’s chagrin. In Anthony’s hand is a piece of stationery – a letter, perhaps, and a full sheet folded in a hem catch, at that – and he is waving it about like a madman with an ax.

“Anthony,” is her soft reply. She graces him with a delicate smile; a smile she has spent countless of hours perfecting in front of a mirror at a young age, after realizing for herself the extent of pageantry that the world expects of a girl of her stature and peerage. It is a smile completely without conceit, without rancor, and gracious but not to the point of arrogance. It is guileless to near impossibility for a person her age, and such is its design to appear cherubic whilst maintaining her wiles. Unlike Anthony, Daphne is blessedly fully dressed in her daywear, her hair falling down upon her back in caramel rivulets that her servant, Henrietta, is expertly grappling into a stylish chignon, whilst coaxing out curls to frame her face. Daphne Bridgerton is an early riser, which seems to be a fortunate happenstance as her brother seems determined to be so boorish as to come screaming bloody murder this morn. She turns to Anthony once her hair is appropriately styled so. “You seem perturbed on such a fine day. What is the matter?”

Anthony does not glare at her – he has long been taught to school his face into passivity – but he does put upon a vexed countenance, his hands still waving the stationery about. After a blessed moment of silence her brother finally condescends to grace her with the purpose of his untimely visit. “This, sweet sister. This is ‘the matter’.”

She wants to raise a brow at his manner of affrighted urgency, truly, but she was taught better than that. “…Very well. I take it I am to in some manner divine the contents of a letter without the disclosure of its substance? Talents I have aplenty, brother, a fact for which I show no false modesty to you anywise as you well know, but another fact is that I am no fortune-teller, as the lack of gypsy blood in our ancestry should make verily apparent.”

“Read it.” He all but spits at her, so fervent was his perturbation. Gently, and with all the caution of an ungloved woman faced with wild vermin, she plucks the letter from his hand, and slowly moves to unfold it, all while giving him wary glances. The wax seal has been removed, but from what traces remain she could see that they had used a shade of vermilion, not black, and some small part of her is somewhat relieved that is it at least not a letter of mourning. She carefully places the letter upon her lap, noting the quality of the stationery, but dreading to find its contents for her own. “Is this _urgent_ , Anthony? Did it arrive this morning? I only ask because it is barely the break of day, and I am certain no letter that would require my attention is of such import to necessitate your …urgency.”

Anthony seems hesitant. “It had arrived last night with all the other letters, if the servants are to be believed. Damn these servants,” the man mutters with a frown, paying no mind to Henrietta, a servant, whose previously unobtrusive countenance becomes even more so, so as to nearly blend into the shadows of Daphne’s bedchamber. Promptly, sensing her employer's considerable ire, Henrietta scurries away like a mouse chased. Heedless, Anthony continues his tirade, “Things of such significance _must_ be brought to my purview without delay, such is the duty of servants to _serve_ , and serve _well_. I do wonder at times if we had none but imbeciles in our employ.”

“Now, now, brother, I doubt the situation calls for so much spite. T’is only a letter.”

“ _Only_ a letter? Would that it only were such!” He runs a hand down his face with an exhaustion that is unseemly for such an early moment of the day, when most are only about to begin with their morning ablutions. “Read it, Daphne, and weep for your brother’s woes, for I fear I may have brought ruin upon us all. I do not place any measure of blame upon your person, tis true, but I do need solace, sister, and perhaps some advice.”

Blame her? What is in this letter? Daphne is filled with equal parts of curiosity and dread. With that eerie note of apprehension, she opens the letter and sees for herself, in beautifully flourished roundhand, just what has set her brother’s nerves aflutter.

…

Daphne Bridgerton feels bubbling within her the sudden desire to read the letter once more, and contemporaneously, the perverse urge to laugh out loud. Surely her own eyes are failing her. “This… was written by the Prince Regent?”

Anthony falls upon her settee with a sigh. “By his own hand, it seems.”

“That cannot be true,” She denies with a shake of her head. “The Prince Regent himself, writing you a letter with a passion so ardent and adroit, with so intimate an air so as for it to nearly be mistaken for a particularly licentious love letter, were the obvious subject of his apparent love not a tale of a murder in cold blood?”

“That is _not_ … Do you not _see_ what he implies upon this correspondence?”

Daphne gives in to the urge to roll her eyes at him. “Yes, indeed, His Royal Highness is without any gamesmanship whatsoever inquiring as to whether your allegiance now falls to the House of Commons, that much is readily apparent. I am not blind, brother, nor am I half-wit despite my public semblance of unworldliness. You are capable of denying all aspersions upon your character with enviable ease, thusly the issue troubles me not at all. Never you mind affairs of pedestrian politick – we have all of us been born and raised among the backstabbing peerage for any such small excursions to be of truly consequential note; instead allow yourself to distinguish the tone of his words in this letter! My! He says he has _never had his mind stimulated so_ and that he hopes very much to meet you in person, that you may have _the chance for intellectual intercourse_ , and that he desires very much to _unbosom the mind in which such mysteries reside_! I never much paid attention the peers’ vituperation of His Highness before, but I see now that there is indeed a fire from whence the smoke arose! How libertine! How salacious of him indeed!”

A lifetime ago, Daphne was a true supporter of love within the same sex.

Anthony sighs at the sight of her obvious wonder and imaginativeness regarding widely objectionable persuations. He does not consort with men! It is abomination! When have his actions or affectation implied such a thing? “This must be very exciting for you, Daphne. Any advice you have on what I am to do now with His Highness’s summons would be greatly appreciated. I am after all not the true mind who concocted such a tale! Sherlock Holmes is your creature, and henceforth any conundrum it inevitably troubles me with so is a creature of your own make as well!”

Daphne looks down upon her hands at that, abashed. “Apologies, brother, but it confounds me what vexes you so. The summons can only be a fortunate thing, for if the Prince Regent himself supports our family and notes you as his peer, would that not elevate our family in turn? It is more than readily apparent that we do not support the Commons, what with the only telling thing to purport such being that the protagonist of the tale is of landed gentry. The story is not even political in nature! It is a murder mystery! Surely even the peers are able to tell so, and any person implying a political scheme would be daunted by the impossible task of proving so, for it is, again, not political! It is distinctly apolitical!”

She frowns then. _Intellectual intercourse_ , indeed. She doubts any such thing will occur should her brother meet Prince George. The Prince Regent is an unmitigated idiot.

Daphne Bridgerton supposes she does feel a measure of remorse over the infringement of a copyright that is admittedly yet to exist, but welling just beneath the paper-thin veneer of her well acclaimed though superficial honesty, lurks the vast majority of her colder and more pragmatic self. Thusly, all Daphne does about it is subdue this brief bout of unnecessary self-reproach, and douse it with a deluge of practicality and profitability – as she has always done a lifetime prior.

Sherlock Holmes _sold_ , truth be told, and that is the long and short of it. Sherlock Holmes will sell again, albeit in his heavily-edited, more antiquated form. Her family may not need the monies, but she has no intentions of awaiting the Season and being sold like cattle to the highest, most appropriate bidder. No, she will have her own income – besides her dowry which is customary for a lady of her station – and live a life of her own. _On_ her own, if she must.

Daphne is a cold woman – this is a truth known by her family. She may fawn and curtsey accordingly in their presence while in public, but as a whole the Bridgerton family entire – and a select few of their many servants – are very well aware that Daphne Bridgerton is an accomplished liar. They love her no less for this facet of her, mind, and she in turn loves them as well, even more so for their acceptance, but there are no doubt a few moments when her siblings wish this Bridgerton daughter is truly as sweet as she purports.

Her family truly deserves better than her, but it is her unhappy fate seldom to treat people so well as they deserve.


End file.
